


Blood Sets the Table

by Thea_Lokidotter



Category: Hatfields & McCoys (TV 2012), Real Person Fiction
Genre: 1890s, Gen, Inspired by Real Events, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_Lokidotter/pseuds/Thea_Lokidotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosie Hatfield is dead and Will knows who did it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Sets the Table

Black. Everyone is wearing black. Fitting for a funeral, but she would have hated it.

It is a pretty day in early fall. It has been pretty all fall and summer too. Fall has always been my favorite time of the year. Rosie hated it though. I said it smelled good. She always said it was the season of death. Now I understand.

I look around me. My family is standing by the casket. My Ma looks beautiful as ever but her dark eyes are heavy with tears. My Pa is absolutely silent. His face is blank, blonde hair in front of his mismatched eyes, one dark blue, the other foggy. His thoughts are in a time long passed. Some of the little ones don’t understand, some do, all cry anyway. I find all the little ones in the crowd. All except Will. I turn away from the mourners.

Looking out the door and across the field, my eyes come to rest on a figure under a tree on the far side of my grandparents’ yard. The boy under it is leaning with his back against the tree, his head down, he is wearing a hat pulled down over his eyes. A rifle lays across his lap. With a look over my shoulder, I start out the door and across the lawn, until I’m near enough to the tree to talk to the boy.  
“Will,” I say, looking for any small reaction. “You should come back to the house.” Nothing. Not the smallest movement to give away his thoughts. Then...  
“I don’t want to.” I glance at him. “I couldn’t face them. Not now.

I understand.

Two days before, Will, Rosie and I had gone out early in the morning. He wanted to get in some hunting before winter came. Rosie wanted flowers for her perfumes and I wanted to come to help Will and make sure he didn’t get in much trouble.

He had a history of it. Will is only 16 but has already been arrested. At 14, he killed a man. He was protecting uncle Troy, Pa’s brother, but the folks over in Kentucky took it hard on account a the man was a McCoy (and our Ma’s bother), and tried to hang Will. But that’s another story.

Will and I were going to find Rosie after a few hours. We came to the crown of a hill when we saw down in the field Rosie standing. But she wasn’t alone.

There was someone with her, a man. He was wearing a hat so I couldn’t see his face. He was holding a rifle and it looked like they were arguing. Immediately, Will dropped to his knee and alined his gun with his right eye. He trained it on the man.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I started to ask Will if he could see who it was, when the mystery man raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

Somebody screamed, maybe me. The sound was like a cannon and reverberated in my ears. Rosie crumpled and the man started to run for his horse.

“Shoot him!” I shouted at Will as I picked up my skirts and ran down the hill. “Shoot him!

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Will hesitate and jerk back like he was shocked. Then he picked up the gun and started down the hill after me. He never shot.

When we got to her, she was almost gone. There was a bloody hole in her stomach. I tried not to look.

“Will,” her voice was weak. She tried to raise her hand. He took it and knelt, not caring about the blood that was seeping into his pants.  
“I’m here,” his voice cracked and I could see he was about to cry.  
“Don’t,” she stuttered. “Don’t do....anything....stupid." Her hand dropped out of his and her eyes glazed over. Her head rolled to one side, dead.

“Will,” I wasn’t sure what to say. All I knew was I had to stop him from doing something stupid, like she said.  
“It’s fine. Come on, let’s get her back to ma,” he stood up, taking her body in his arms. I stared after him. Then slowly followed him up to where the horses were.

Rosie was his twin sister.

Now, under the tree in the yard, it looked like he might end up doing what she told him too, nothing. Not what I’d expect from my little brother.  
“Will,” I say. “It’s not like that. Ma and Pa don’t blame you for it.” He just grunts.  
“Uncle Tennis says that it had to be a McCoy what shot her. He’s trying to talk Pa and Grandpa Anse into getting a posse and rounding up all the McCoys they can.”  
I see a muscle in Will’s jaw tighten.  
“Did you see who it was?” I ask, not of the first time.  
“No,” He replies. “I didn’t shot because he was too far way, lucky bastard.” For some reason, I just can’t bring myself to believe him.

My brother is the best shot in the family. Even better then my Pa and that’s saying something. He can shot a bird out of the sky...at night...with his eyes shut. Well, maybe not that good but you get my point. There was little reason to believe that he hadn’t shot because the man was to far way.

“Kat! Will!” Our little brother, Calvin’s voice suddenly rings out. “Ma’ma says to get in here now!” Will starts to get up.  
“Will!” He glances at me. “Are you going to be O.K.?” His blue eyes find my brown ones.  
“I’ll be fine.” He stumbles as he stands and I grad his arm.  
“I’ll be fine,” he repeats. He straightens and walks up towards the house. I'm left standing there, staring after my brother.

 

For the next five months, William Anderson Hatfield lll got more and more detached until he hardly spoke at all. Most people thought the 16 year-old was crazy. The death of his twin sister, Roseanna Hatfield, was so traumatizing that he backed away from everyone. But Rosie’s death wasn’t the only thing eating at him. Katrina Hatfield, the 18 year-old sister of Will, asked him on the day of the funeral whether he had seen who had shot there sister. At the time, he had said no but, in fact, he was lying. He has seen who had done it, but it was too much for the brother of the victim. It wasn’t until five months after her death that anybody got him to talk about that day. On March 20th, Katrina Hatfield again went to talk to her now estranged brother. During this conversation, the attacker comes up. At this time William finally confess to having seen the assistant’s face. And it was someone he knew.

 

I stood on the front porch of my Grandparent’s house, looking out across the open field to the barn where Will sat.  
“You should go talk to him,” My grandmother said. I turned towards her.  
“He wouldn’t listen.” I looked back out towards where he sat.  
“You never know if you don’t try, and I think that the poor boy could use his big sister.” I sighed. “Alright. I’ll try, Grandma Levicy.”  
She smiled and squeezed my hand. I walked slowly at first then faster, getting mad at him for being so distant from everything.

“Will!” I practically yelled. He barely looked up, which just made me more mad at him.  
“William Anderson Hatfield! I get that your upset. I get that! Everyone else is too but you don’t see them practically becoming a mute! You know that people think your nuts?! Do you even care? ... oh God, Are you crying?”

I was standing in front of him and his face was wet.  
“Will....,” I reached out and rubbed my thumb over his cheek.  
“I lied,” he whispered.  
“About what?”  
“I saw who shot her.” I just stood there staring at him.  
“I saw and I had a clear shot and I didn’t take it.’  
“Who? Did you recognize who it was?” I asked.  
“Yes. That’s the worst part. I know who it was.”  
“Who!? Will, you have to say who! He looked start at me.  
“It was Randel McCoy.” He let it sink in. "Our grandfather shot my twin sister.”

Suddenly, my brain when into overdrive  
“Pa,” the word barely escaped my lips. “We have to tell Pa.”  
“NO!!” Will’s shout scared me. He had jumped up and grabbed my arm.  
“They will all be mad at me for not saying something earlier!”  
“No, they wouldn’t. God, Will! You have too! Know what? If you don’t, I will!” I snapped at him.  
“Please, Kat,” The mumble was so quiet, I barely heard it. “Please. Let me be the one to tell. I know I should have done it earlier but I just couldn’t. So please, Kat. Please.” One glance at his face told me he was right. So I relented.  
“Fine! Tell them by the end of the week, alright?”  
“ok.” He slowly got up and looked over his shoulder up at the house.  
“Everyone is in there. If you go now, they’ll all know.”  
“No, I think I’ll just tell Ma and Pa tonight.  
“Alright.” I reached over and took his hand. “Will.”  
He looked over at me.  
“Are you going to be OK?” It was that same thing I had asked him the day of the funeral. He gave the same answer.  
“I’ll be fine.” And as he walked up the hill to the farm and our family, I actually believed him.


End file.
